Worshipper
by Sakurazukamori6
Summary: GatoHazel. Hazel speaks his mind, and Gato like the good protector that he is listens. Warning: Hazel's southern accent rampant.
1. Gentle Like a Lamb

**A/N:** Okay so this is a response to the fourth Saiyuki reload manga. I went along with the whole southern accent they gave him in the manga, because it suited him. For some reason, I can totally see him as one of those southern belles that are always cheating on their husbands, and walking around with an umbrella everywhere they go…his hat is kinda like an umbrella…right? Okay I'll shut up now.

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I never noticed it before, but Gato has a rebellious streak lately. He's being stubborn, and sometimes he talks to me like I'm some child. A child, really. He should know his place, and he does know. Many times he has demonstrated to me his knowledge of his position, and yet he still questions me. All I need is his protection. He is to always protect me. Me. I'm the one thing that matters to him, the only thing in the world. I am his world, his light, his salvation, his redemption, and in keeping that in mind he shouldn't disobey me. I'm…

His…

"Gato, would you be a dear and peel me an orange." I make him do menial tasks that account for nothing, nothing holy, nothing sacred, except my pleasure. He bows his heads, and it sets my heart aflutter the way he does it --He's the only one who can drag me out of my mood, and he's the only one who can put me right back-- It's perfect. Perfect submission, and he knows his part so well, so well that it pleases me. He looks up at me from under his bandana, his yellow stare so different from the common rambler --I see in every town, in every street-- so much stronger, so focused, so obedient, so thrilling.

He bows his head lower, and his eyes vanish behind shadows. The two long lines under his eyes are suddenly sharp in the light reflected from the bulb overhead.

Dangerous.

I can hear it like a shrill cry in the inky darkness behind my eyes. He's aware of this too. He knows I understand something inside of him, and he bows his head lower as a fitting image of subservience.

My protector. My very own knight in shining armor. I like the idea that he was born for me, and on nights like this when the moon is low and bright like a firefly about to be captured in a glass jar, I open my arms and let him into my best of graces.

I sit on the edge of the bed and wait, but it won't take long. He walks over stiffly --like he always does when faced with my whims-- and sits down on the floor between my legs, which helps immensely with the height difference.

He's facing me, and his brown head comes up to my throat. We sit quietly for those few minutes, as we reacquaint ourselves with this position --the sounds of the moist wind outside, and the howl of a mangy dog collecting like rainwater in the noisy roof gutters.

He breathes in, and I discard my gloves with the aid of a couple firm tugs from my teeth. He takes my hand, and completely enfolds it in his, like a shield. His fingers rough and hard, like the youkai souls, which I use to construct them. They gently cradle my own, a gentleness that he uses only on nights when the wall are thick and quiet. He holds it before his face, and I give him the inspiration by way of stare, to touch his forehead to the smooth skin on the back of the held palm. The bandana is in the way, and my annoyance with it is shuttered, when I deftly pick the knot that binds it, to watch it fall to the floor. He lets me do as I please, and rubs his naked forehead against my hand.

"My, my, you're always such a darling." His eyes are closed, and he's moving his face over my hand, like the skin there is better at describing the flesh of my hand than his strong eyes. I don't comment. His nose is pressing into my skin. The pressure firm and warm, and I think about what a loyal hound my Gato would present to anyone who walked in right now. The pressure is now gone, replaced by a mouth that traces over the thin bones in my hand. I let out a pleased sigh, and he breaths in.

He kisses me once there, and my other hand, which hasn't been getting nearly as much attention, flutters over my heart. I can feel it beat; thrumming like a small animal, and I've always believed I love these instances when Gato proves his devotion has many forms.

"Such a good man. Sweet and repentant." Like no other.

I grasp the back of his head and I gently --as gentle as he can be-- guide his face into the crook of my neck. He lets go off my hand, and both his arms --arms that have crushed bone, torn flesh, scraped blood-- are now wrapped around my waist and lower back. I reciprocate the embrace, my hands sliding up his broad back, one perching itself on his wide shoulders, as the other smoothly cups the back of his head.

"It has been awhile since I've indulged this." I stroke one lock of his hair, and Gato presses another kiss this time to my throat.

"Oh, how you make my heart beat." His mouth roves over the soft skin of my throat, and his hands tighten around my back. He barely talks, even when we are going through the motions of nights like these --he talks only when he thinks I have missed some information that might…affect me in the future-- but when he does, those are the moments that aggravate me. Those are the times I have come to hate more and more. It was in those moments that Gato stopped being my knight, stopped being my guard dog, and started questioning my motives and authority. Those were the times when he treated me like a…child.

Curling my hands in his hair, I pull until I can see his eyes looking up at me.

"I'd like you to go on, and remember something." I pause, and this time my hand has slipped around from his head, and is now cupping his cheek. "You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?" He nods his head, and I'm pleased at the promptness of his faith in me.

"Whenever a question pops into your head," my hand leaves his cheek, as I drag a lone finger up the side of his face, coming to stop at the side of his temple. I tap there twice for emphasis, "make sure it doesn't get past these." I place my finger over his mouth, and I smile.

"Shhh." I love the quietness that radiates from this man. These past days have been so loud and fretful, to be able to have such absolute silence all to myself.

I fan myself, and sitting forward into his arms, I peck him on the cheek.

"Oh Gato, there isn't a moment when I don't thank God for your strength and propriety. Such good manners, and such ability."

I like to flatter him, because unlike any of those, who I've paid hollow compliments to, he never says anything, only stares at me with eyes like an animal --so thoughtful and peaceful-- and nods his head. And unlike any of those other false compliments, the ones I pay to him are always true.

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****A/N:** I might write another chapter, if I get enough people who like it, and by that I mean reviews. 


	2. Savage as a Wolf

**A/N:** I'm very thankful for the reviews because this isn't a very popular pairing, so whatever I get is very appreciated.

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What lays in a man's heart, in his soul, in the recesses that store his deepest, darkest desires? It's not very hard to figure out what every man craves because the wanting, every man's wanting stems from generalities based on the human psyche, the human history, the human error… 

Wealth, the greedy fool who covets monetary value because he believes in gained status, believes in a fake respect it will give him, believes in image, and luxury. He is a clown of his avarice. I despise these fellows the most because they are always the weakest. Then there's the man who holds the power of his fist above everything else, the man who fights with his pride on the line, but a man who also kills for blood and sport. I've run across many of these in my journeys and I must say they are quite troublesome, if a bit slow--I'm certainly thankful for Gato when those type of brutes show up--And last, and certainly not least, the advent of the abstract protagonists. Fighting for ideals, for people, for love, for revenge…

I could consider myself apart of this collection, but my goal, my revenge has a higher purpose. It's not a foolish ideal, it's not a romantic song, but a deterrent to evil and all that is malicious. It is the true gospel. I rather detest dreamers and I rather detest the lovers that have been drawn to this abstraction, but the one good thing about these fellows is that they can be manipulated through their fleeting emotions and used to serve my purpose to the fullest.

My Gato was unfortunate enough to be cast into the role of the love-starved, a role that I've taken quite to in my quest for ridding Shangri-La, of ridding the world of demon kind. He protects me, he bows before me, he loves me, and in exchange, I let him take as much mortal love from my body that he can have.

It's no surprise at how effective this has worked over the years, how utterly obedient, how tamed he is in my presence.

Man is a slave to his body and my Gato is no exception.

Like tonight, it doesn't take long for him to come to me, head bowed, silent, and pleasing. There isn't a man alive that can approach me like Gato does and simply win my favor with his quietness. Sometimes, I wonder if these reasons have anything to do with why I let Gato into my bed without any fuss, or any resistance. I suppose he just always catches me in the right moods, although he can be very persuasive.

"Heavens aren't you utterly exhausted, Gato?" He doesn't say anything to this, just rests his large hand on the top of one of my legs. "I guess not." He doesn't press, just waits for the answer that lets him place his other hand on my knee and pull. My back hits the mattress with a thump and there's the creak of a knee pressing into the bed next to my left leg.

He hovers and I wink at him from my place under him. It seemed the answer he had been waiting for, and he slides a hand under my arm and as he crawls forward to the top of the bed he takes me with him. I laugh because he's so direct in his approach, not like a normal human being at all, but I feel that wasn't something that I had tampered with when under that tree --Ages ago, under that tree that waved in the breeze and called sinners to it like the Apple Tree of Paradise -- it was just the way Gato had always been. He did not hold onto embarrassment like normal people, he just went ahead on his path without a second glance back.

I pulled off his bandana and I helped him out of his vest and took my time with the buttons of his shirt as he was sliding his pants off. I could feel the muscle in his shoulders moving under my palm, the controlled strength, and the devastating power one swing could inflict on his enemy. It sent shivers up my spine as I slide my hands over his back and I wrapped one leg around his waist.

My coat had been off upon entering the door and it did not take long for the rest to meet the same end. I turn my head to offer Gato a side of my neck and he buries his face into the soft skin there as I focus on the feeling of his mouth, of the drizzling rain outside, of the smells in this little inn room, the mundane sights: my nightgown spread over a chair, my medallion on the night stand, shoes at the entrance, the raised end of a mat.

I look down and I can see the scar across Gato's nose, and his skin, dark against my own. He licks at my throat, his hand moving for my hair and his calloused fingers brush through, once, twice, and then stops in an act to cup the back of my head. He doesn't prepare me, like he used to. He's stopped doing that because my body's become so used to it, so used to the motions of nights like these. He just holds my knee up and pushes in and for a bright second, I feel pain. Pain that Gato strangely has caused me.

Tonight, he gives me pain and tomorrow I will give him more.

He groans, presses into me harder and soon he's rocking back and forth within me, a steady rhythm that makes his breath rise and fall in a way that I've never seen, even when he's fighting. The pace picks up; he pulls my hair a little and moves so he can cover my mouth with his. He kisses me hard and my arms around his shoulders tighten because the touch of him inside of me is rubbing against the walls of my body. Is awakening that dead spark of humanity within me that can only perceive through our joining, through the feel of his hand between our bodies.

He stops inside of me, and I hum at him because the pleasure his hand gives me is steadily building as I twist around in the sheets, burying my head in his shoulder and encouraging him with each keening moan that comes panting from my mouth, until finally I'm still and spent in his arms. He bucks within me coming at the sound of my whimpers and he slumps, his weight causing the air in my lungs to leap out of my chest.

"Gato, Gato, you're going to crush me if you don't pick yourself up." He shifts, pulls out and rolls over. I wrap the covers around my waist and my nightgown is suddenly held out in front of me.

"Here." He sits on the bed next to me and I slip it on quietly. I smile at him, and the serious expression on his face softens a bit until he leans forward and places a hand on my shoulder. "You should try to get some sleep."

"Yes. I should, shouldn't I?" He nods his head and I crook my finger at him, calling him closer. He shifts on the bed and it groans under his weight --I can't blame it-- "Did you enjoy yourself?"

He halts upon coming closer, the muscles in his back tensing up. The anxiety apparent in the way his eyes can't meet mines and I trail my fingers on a patch of sheet that separates us.

"It didn't take very long? You surprise me, I didn't know you were that…keyed up."

It bothers me that he doesn't just let himself get embarrassed, and that if I could control this emotion from him, I think I would have a better grasp of his actions, of his control, of his pleasure.

"Come now Gato, no need to be so dense. I'm jus' asking if you liked it? You never speak of any of it, so I do get a teensy bit offended, dear."

He takes a hold of my hand, like an ailing man and I grimace at his actions.

I pull my hand away.

"Awright, go ahead. I don't feel up to this tonight." I shoo him away with my hand, and lying back down, I close my eyes because that hadn't been the reaction I'd been baiting for. He can be so tiring sometimes. My Gato. I feel him rise from the bed and hear him as he walks over to the desk. I open one eye to see him picking up a chair and close it suddenly just in time as he walks over to where I am. I can hear him sit down, and it isn't hard to figure out what he plans to do for the rest of the night.

Silently sitting here and watching over me as I sleep. I turn to face the other side because I can already feel his eyes staring at my face and it makes my neck warm the way I know he's looking at me.

It angers me.

It irritates me because he knows that I need my rest if tomorrow is to be another eventful day. I need my strength, I need his strength and if he's going to squander it on getting an eyeful then he might as well just plead for more love.

He doesn't though, which bothers me even more. He just quietly watches, and I think how devoted my Gato is and that if given the chance, if this night would continue on forever, he would do just that.

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A/N:** Eeegads…never listen to Dir en Grey and Chemistry while trying to write a fanfic. It makes the author very conflicted. Heavy metal/Sweet boy pop ain't a good mix. I hope somebody likes this and as always, reviews are very much appreciated. 


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